


Hands of The Sea

by AQuietThinker



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Hands, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Just go with it. For plot, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Water, We're pretending Homophobia isnt a thing in the 50s 0r 40s, baths, dorset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker
Summary: The cockpit was filling up quickly, freezing water already reaching his waist and numbing his legs. The sky mocked him as he swung his fist, again and again and again, but nothing happened.This was it. He wouldn't even be able to scream.(In which Collins has a flashbacks to his crash in Dunkirk)
Relationships: Collins & Farrier (Dunkirk), Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: 'Hands'





	Hands of The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Wait wait wait, me?? Posting two different proof read works in consecutive order? I might have cabin fever.

“Peter Dawson is getting married in a week.” he commented, sipping the rest of his tea in one swing.

Moonlight filtered into their kitchen through the small window, illuminating their table and the empty plates from dinner. Collins never pictured Farrier in domestic tasks, but the man constantly surprised him with magical dinners composed of the limited food provided by a war damaged country.

Farrier didn't look up from the dishes. “We’re going, right?”

“He gave me the invitation himself. They already have a child coming their way.”

“Does it have a name yet?”

Collins smiled to himself and stood up, walking towards the counter and hugging Farrier from behind. He let his head fall against the taller man’s back. “George Dawson.”

“In honour of the boy?”

“I'm imagining so.”

Farrier hummed in acknowledgment and dried his hands off. 

“Lovely dinner.” he commented. “D’you want to take a bath?”

Collins shoulders tensed, retreating his arms from the man’s waist. He didn't notice as his hand started shaking slightly when he scooped a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it quickly before Farrier could turn to look.

“Love?”

There was a touch of concern in Farrier's eyes, but Collins refused to ruin a lovely night with his fear. He offered a small smile and gave the cigarette.

Farrier’s eyes stuck on his while he took the fag. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah..”

“You sure? We can just go to bed if-”

“No, it's fine.” he snapped.

Farrier raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Collins swallowed heavily before nodding. If he was still unconvinced, the pilot did not show, and turned to finish cleaning their kitchen.

“Why don’t you start the bath and get in? I still need to bring the cats inside and ask Mr. Johnson if he’ll need my help tomorrow.”

Collins tightened his fist but nodded to himself. When the apron was finally discarded, Collins felt the man’s lips press against his head before walking away.

“I'll see you in a few minutes.”

\- - - - - - - -

_It 's just water._

Since they first bought the small home, Collins had never taken a bath. Farrier usually did during the afternoons alone, and he would find him relaxing with the cat on the edge and a book halfway done in his hands. But he himself never did.

_It 's just water._

He watched as the tub slowly filled, steaming softly and shining with the dull light coming through the window. It took him a few more minutes to finally convince himself to undress slowly.

With a deep breath and his clothes piled neatly on a corner, he lowered himself on the porcelain, feeling the near boiling water bite his skin.

He brought his knees up to his chest, studying the mirror-like water. His head was spinning, but before he could stretch out and grip the edges of the tub with his hands, he was already in full uniform, buckled to a seat.

_The cockpit was filling up quickly, freezing water already reaching his waist and numbing his legs. The sky mocked him as he swung his fist, again and again and again, but nothing happened._

_This was it. He wouldn't even be able to scream._

_He thought the end would be peaceful, that he would welcome death with open arms. Blokes he knew and strangers he saw went down as easily as flowers during winter. He had even prepared himself for that day, but it wouldn't be like this._

_Let me out. Please let me out._

_His knuckle had cracked but not a dent was visible on the crystal surface. His remaining hand struggled to search for an object, anything to break it, just get out, get out._

_Let me out. Let me out. Just let me out._

_The water was up to his neck and even if his teeth clamped shut there was salt pouring down his throat and-_

_He could hear screaming. A voice from faraway, saying words he couldn't understand, but he kept punching and begging and clawing at the crystal. The hands of the ocean were wrapping around his limbs and pulling down._

“Collins.”

_Let me out, just please-_

“Collins- Jack.”

His body was going numb from the cold until a hand touched his back. It was grounding, bringing him back to reality like a hot iron.

_Please just let me out._

Another hand wrapped around him sturdily, lifting him away from the water, but the cold still phantomed around his body like a veil. The fingers traveled up to his face, with a gentleness that contrasted the fury of the sea, touching and whispering.

“Come back, Jack. Come back to me.”

The floor was cold, and even if he wrapped his limbs around himself his bare skin could barely take the piercing of needles. For a moment the hands left his body and his throat whined, afraid that if they left he would never feel that warmth again.

They returned soon enough, enveloping him with a cloth.

Two fingers caressed his chin softly before raising it. Collins immediately met with the troubled storm eyes and felt a heaviness drop against his stomach.

Farrier sighed deeply. “Oh darling, what have you done to yourself?”

\- - - - - - - -

“You never told me what happened.”

The man hadn't spoken a word in the time it took to wrap another towel around him and sit on the floor, but he could feel a heavy set of eyes on him, heavier than the comforting hands.

He let out an involuntary breath that shook his throat, burying his head on his knees but letting the hand on his back keep rubbing circles. Farrier’s figure next to him felt as the only warm thing in the room, but he was too terrified to go back to the memory and drown over and over again by telling him.

Farrier seemed to catch his message. “You don’t have to tell me if you don't want to. Its up to you if-”

“No, its no that.” he interrupted. “It's just… I don't know how to.”

“How to tell me?”

Collin just nodded and glued his eyes to the tile floor.

He hears the pilot sigh softly and lean his back on the wall, hand never leaving his back and sliding up to his shoulder. After a while he felt a tingling sensation in his left hand, when the numbness finally left, and was surprised to look down at some pearl white bandages.

Farrier seemed to have followed his bleak expression and cradled the injured fingers up to his lips. “You were thrashing violently when I came in. Nothing’s broken, but you did cut the skin on your knuckles.”

Collins shivered again, tightening his fist and ignoring the nausea forming on his stomach. He leaned back against the tub, feeling the still dripping water soak the back of his towel.

“Do you ever feel guilty?”

When their eyes met, Collin could only decipher none of the many emotions clouding the sea-storm eyes of the man. They stared back at him like lost stars.

When Farrier came home he was mostly mute, letting Collins talk about his own demons easily. He had let the burdens inside him roll down his throat like water, and soon enough the pilot knew the stories behind the majority of scars and burns on his body. 

With time, Farrier himself began opening up, but with a slow pace. He would talk about the memories randomly, suddenly opening up during dinner, or a walk down the docks, giving only enough information for Collins to helplessly wonder what happened.

At the moment he only knew that he had been starved and burned twice, but everything else remained a mystery. But it counted as talking. As healing.

“Of course I do.”

Perhaps he did not talk much, but he did leave small pieces every night for Collins to piece together and form an intricate web of horrors.

“Every night, I think of my time there.” Farrier let his legs extend on the ground. “But I mostly feel guilty about leaving. While you boys kept fighting I was stuck with some other, incapable of protecting those I cared for.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“Well, Jack, neither was it yours.”

Collins lowered his head again and the towel slipped from his shoulder, giving Farrier a perfect view of his marred shoulder. He felt Farrier’s heavy gaze on the marked skin, and shivered when his hand slowly caressed it.

“Was this part of it?”

“No, no. That was later. I didn't get any physical scars from the crash.”

Farrier nodded but kept quiet.

“I… I tried to land her smoothly, and she did, but as I tried to get up the cockpit won't open.” he took a deep breath. “I thought I would drown. The crystal wouldn't break, not even with my gun, and the water kept coming in. It was so fucking fast. I swear it… it was up to my neck in a matter of seconds and I couldn't…”

His voice was cut short with a sharp intake of air. His eyes watered but he refused to let himself cry.

“Peter broke it with a stick and pulled me out just after I ran out of oxygen.”

The boy always bragged in meals how quickly the pilots had recovered differently from other soldiers they picked up. He had not faltered, broken down or shivered mutely, instead talking and aiding the two men with their mission.

“So when you were in the bath, you were back inside the plane again.”

Collins' voice reduced to a whisper. “Yes.”

In one fluid motion, Farrier was crouching in front of him with eyes filled with worry and his hands gently traveling from his shoulder up to his jaw.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

Collin’s lip trembled. “I'm sorry too, just… don’t leave.”

The pilot offers a gentle smile before sliding his arm around his shoulders, letting Collins bury his face against Farrier’s neck. For the first time in months, he lets himself weep loudly, hands encircling tightly around the other.

“It's alright, Jack.” Farrier whispers, sliding his fingers to hold the back of his head. “We both are fucked up but I… I’m not going anywhere.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it feel free to make my day and comment something :)


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